The Forbidden Corridor
by Ms. Jones
Summary: In her sixth year at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger is viciously attacked by Draco Malfoy and his gang, whilst taking a risky short cut from the library one night. This incident draws her into a deep depression she may not escape. AU, NC! OOC Hermione.
1. The Forbidden Corridor

The Forbidden Corridor 

All related names, places etc. are owned primarily by J.K Rowling, and owned and copyrighted by Warner Bros.

A/N: This first chapter will be quite heavy, as I have a very bad incident happen straight off, so be warned, it may be uncomfortable reading. Unfortunately, this frankly horrible event is integral to the plot. I would also like to say I don't dislike Hermione despite what I put her through, and sorry to all Draco lovers for making him so vile. Don't be discouraged:)

The Forbidden Corridor

At the end of a late-night study session in the Library at Hogwarts, Britain's most prestigious school for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione Granger looked at the clock, reading half past ten, and yawned. Madam Pince rolled her eyes and impatiently tapped at her bare wrist, indicating that Hermione's time was up and she should quit the library for the day.

Sighing, Hermione gathered her books and parchments, recorked her ink bottles, and, stuffing them into her bag, proceeded out of the library, with a friendly "good night" to Madam Pince, who nodded briefly in reply.

Heading back to the Gryffindor common room, she found her route inconveniently blocked by a marsh of Peeves' creation, the ability to pull such stunts bequeathed to him by Fred and George Weasley who had left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory after tiring of Umbridge's tyranny last year. Sighing, Hermione knew she would have to take the detour to the common room via the third floor corridor.

It was unsafe, Dumbledore had said to use the corridor after dark. There was no lighting, the walls bore no sentient paintings, and rumour had it that even Hogwarts' most fearsome spirit, Slytherin's Bloody Baron, refused to haunt this walkway

Nevertheless, Hermione was tired, and desperate to sink beneath her warm, clean feathery duvet, to drift into blissful sleep, perchance to dream up some more answers to slip into her Runes essay. Besides, she had taken this path many times with her best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and nothing untoward had ever happened.

"Lumos," she whispered to her wand, and a bright ray of light emanated from her vine-wood and dragon heartstring wand. She walked briskly along the dank stone corridor, keen to get back to her dormitory. She ignored the occasional shuffling sound behind her, putting it down to the spirits in the castle.

She was nearing the end of the corridor closest to the Gryffindor common room, when a pale, cold hand reached out and clamped a hand on her mouth.

"Hello, Granger," an equally cold voice hissed.

Hermione felt strong, chunky fingers from a hot hand grab her right arm and twist it violently up her back. She refused, however, to relent the grip on her lit wand.

Another icy hand, much like the one upon her mouth, began to caress her neck. "Come on, dear," the voice whispered coldly. "Drop the wand."

"No," Hermione hissed behind the freezing cupped hand.

"Okay," the voice, which Hermione recognised a belonging to Draco Malfoy. "The price you pay for non-compliance is simple. Vincent, break the bitch's arm."

Hermione's other assailant, Malfoy's second-in-command, Vincent Crabbe, twisted Hermione's arm even further up her back, at an unnatural angle. She screamed in agony, as a burning pain shot from her shoulder to her wrist; she heard three snaps and two pops as her arm broke in several places at ones, and her wrist and shoulder dislocated, yet still she retained a death-grip on her precious wand.

"Okay, Granger," Malfoy snarled calmly. "You leave me no choice. Gregory, cop a hold of this nasty little Mudblood. I need to disarm her!"

Hermione felt two chunky arms, belonging to Gregory Goyle, Malfoy's other henchman. The tree-trunk like limbs wrapped so tightly around her, she felt a burning pain as two of her ribs broke as Goyle squeezed her tighter and tighter, so that she couldn't breathe, let alone scream. Perhaps mercifully so, because Hermione was sure if she did scream, her punishment would be worse.

Malfoy gave Goyle an appraising look, knowing what he'd just done. He produced his wand, a black onyx wand bought for him by his father a few short months before he was unjustly, in Malfoy's eyes, sent to Azkaban. He pointed it at Hermione's painful, shaking hand. "Sectumsempra!" he hollered, moving his new wand in a slashing motion.

Before Hermione had time to realise it was not the traditional Expelliarmus spell associated with disarming, she felt a sharp pain, like a dagger had just ripped through her arm, and this time she couldn't help but scream. Wet, warm blood poured down her hand and onto her wand, dulling the light and giving it a crimson glow. She fought back tears, determined not to let Malfoy see her cry.

She could see his thin pale face leering at her, bathed in bloody light. He shook his head.

"Throw the bitch on the floor," he commanded to Goyle, who obliged, putting his ample weight behind the toss, sending Hermione, minus her bag, hurtling against a limestone wall, which cracked her right jaw, before she tumbled to the floor.

"Right then, my pretty," Malfoy's voice said to the prone Hermione. "Are you gonna drop the damn wand now?"

Hermione nodded, her jaw causing her considerable pain as she did, which made her whimper. Malfoy slapped her sharply across the face for daring to make such a noise. Meanwhile, Goyle and Crabbe were emptying the contents of her bag on the floor, and destroying the contents: her textbooks, her hard work, which was all for nothing. She heard a bottle of ink smash near her left ear, only to find it had been thrown at her on purpose, the bottle had hit her face, and some shards of the crystal phial had embedded themselves in her raw cheek She tasted the bitter liquid as it dribbled into her mouth.

Now Malfoy was kneeling by her body, a hand burrowing into her blouse. "Hey," he said in a sinister soft voice, which chilled Hermione. "Hey baby, don't cry. All you've got to do is drop your wand, and we'll leave you be. Okay?"

Foolishly, Hermione believed him. Slowly, she uncurled the swollen fingers on her injured hand, letting her wand roll to the floor.

"Good girl," whispered Malfoy, above the ripping sounds that were still echoing around the corridor. "For that, you get a reward." He knelt astride Hermione, and roughly pulled her shirt open, and tugged it from her shoulders, causing it to tear nearly in half. He reached behind her, bearing his weight down on her so she wouldn't struggle, as he removed her bra, white and lacy, surprisingly sexy for the Mudblood brainiac.

"Very nice," Malfoy drawled, taking a nipple into his mouth and biting on it hard. When Hermione squealed in discomfort, he slapped her once again, driving the glass further into her face.

"There," he said, reaching for Hermione's jeans and unbuttoning them, pulling them roughly down, along with her panties. Clutching his wand, he rested the tip of it on Hermione's thigh. "Diffindio!" he snarled, as the sturdy material ripped, from crotch down to the leg, and all Malfoy had to do was pull those, and her useless, cut-up panties, to one side.

Quickly and unexpectedly, he then thrust his wand between Hermione's legs. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound as the cold wand was pushed roughly inside her, and winced as Malfoy moved it carelessly inside her.

"What's that?" he growled. "Enjoying that? Want something more… spectacular? Well, that can be arranged." He withdrew, and discarded his dirty, bloodied wand, and reached to unzip himself.

Hermione knew what was coming, but had no idea that evil Malfoy could do something this bad, this nasty, and this corrupt. As it happened, she screwed up her eyes, partly in pain, partly because she didn't want to witness what was happening to her.

Pinning her shoulders to the ground, especially leaning on her injured right side, Malfoy made the experience all the worse for Hermione. To stop her eyes from desperately leaking the tears she so wanted to shed, she began screaming out.

"Open… your eyes… and look at ME!" Malfoy demanded as he thrust violently upon Hermione. "And shut up… you dirty Mudblood!" His hand nastily slapped her glass-spiked, inky cheek.

Reluctantly, Hermione opened her eyes wide and found her head wrenched to the side, where she could see the shadows of Crabbe and Goyle watching Hermione take her 'punishment' from Malfoy.

Finally, Malfoy decided enough was enough. He tucked his shame away, picked up his wand, and stood up, making sure to tread hard on Hermione's right ankle as he did. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it, Granger?" he said sweetly, as he wiped his wand on his jet-black robes. "Greg, it's your turn."

It started happening again, only this time, with the weight of Goyle bearing down on her broken ribs, it was even more uncomfortable for Hermione. Her lungs were squashed flat and she couldn't breathe. Just as she was about to collapse into a sweet oblivion, she felt Goyle finally release her. As she took a cleansing gulp of air, she felt a foot in her face, which broke her nose and split her septum.

"Vince!" Malfoy chided Crabbe in mock horror. "Did you really need to do that to such a beautiful lady?"

Crabbe snorted. "Well, she ain't so beautiful now, is she," he scoffed, poking Hermione in the ribs, exactly where one of the broken ones was. The pain was so bad, she finally passed out, and her head slumped to one side.

By the time she came round, she found Crabbe, kneeling over her. He had obviously got what he wanted from her defenceless, unconscious body, and was about to leave her, used and discarded, where she was. "She's a good ride," Crabbe said as he got to his feet. "For a filthy little Mudblood."

Malfoy knelt down next to the stricken Hermione and stroked her hair, damp with terror sweat. "Did you enjoy that, sweetness?" he asked, kissing her forehead cynically.

Hermione lay there whimpering in pain, trying hard not to let tears come to her eyes. Why did you do that to me? she wanted to ask Malfoy. Do you hate me that much? Just give me a reason, and I'll never tell a soul… Just leave me alone.

"What's that?" Malfoy asked. "You did? You want some more?"

Hermione shook her head stiffly, eyes wide. She was too afraid to close them.

"We'll do this again sometime," Malfoy said, in a mock-reassuring voice. "You'll get used to it, don't worry." He picked up Hermione's torn knickers and shoved them in his pocket. "I'll keep these to remind me of the good times we had." He indicated Hermione's other clothes to his cronies. "Greg… Vince… help yourselves."

Crabbe and Goyle gathered up the remainder of Hermione's torn clothes, and began to walk away.

"See you around, sweetheart," Malfoy snorted, following his cronies, kicking Hermione hard in the ribs as he left her

Unable to get up, her broken ankle swollen to twice its size now, Hermione Granger lay naked and ashamed, freezing in the cold corridor. Why had she let it happen? She could have fought Malfoy off; she remembered the incident from three years ago when she had socked him in the nose for calling her a 'filthy little Mudblood'. Why hadn't she done it just then? The light of her wand was dying away as her resolve to keep the beam burning slipped away. Her body ached all over, but her mind felt numb. She didn't understand what Malfoy and his friends had done to her. How could one human being have done that to another?

Safe in the knowledge that Malfoy and his buddies were far away, probably laughing about the incident in the Slytherin common room, or reliving it wrapped in their fetid sheets, Hermione finally allowed herself to cry.


	2. Found

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews, VampyrKFM, Silidons (a late entry!) and Kyra4. To be honest, wasn't expecting reviews so quickly, but it's all good. Thanks:)_

_As before, all related names, places, etc. are owned primarily by J.K Rowling, and owned and copyrighted by Warner Bros._

Found

Ron Weasley was enjoying a restful night's sleep, dreaming about soaring high into the sky above the castle upon a Firebolt, not dissimilar to the one belonging to his friend Harry Potter, who was asleep in the bed opposite.

Suddenly, the broomstick started to shake violently. Ron tried vainly to stay on, but this proved impossible as he tumbled to his doom. A horrified female voice whose owner had witnessed Ron's struggle squealed: "Ron!"

Ron awoke before he hit the ground, but the alarmed girly voice continued. "Ron! Ron! Wake up!"

He realised Lavender Brown was standing over him, shaking him awake, willing him to get out of bed. "What the…" Ron groaned. "Whazzgoinon?"

"Shut up…" moaned a stirring Neville Longbottom, pulling a pillow over his head. "Go 'way."

Eventually Ron sat up and switched on his bedside table. "Lavender…" he groaned, squinting at her, bleary-eyed.

"Ron!" Lavender squealed. "It's Hermione!"

At the sound of Hermione's name, Harry, who had been woken anyway by Lavender's dramatic entrance into the dorm room, sat up. "What's wrong?" he asked, concerned about his friend, but voice still thick with sleep.

"Hermione…" Lavender whispered. "She's still not back from the library, and it's two o'clock…"

"Have you checked the common room?" said Ron, as Harry slipped on his glasses and threw off his covers.

"Yes… and she's not there," Lavender said, on the verge of tears.

"Okay," said Harry calmly, as he stood up and walked shakily to his trunk. He knew exactly what to do, even though he was not sure where Hermione might be. "If you wait in the common room for us, we'll get ready, then we'll have a look on this for her, okay?" He had fished out the Marauder's Map from his trunk, and held up the apparently blank folded parchment up to show Lavender.

"Thank you, Harry," wept Lavender, as she slunk out of the room.

"It's not like Hermione to be out after hours," Ron mentioned, as he and Harry threw on some clothes. "Well, not on her own, at any rate."

"Wonder what's up," said Harry, slipping on a jacket (in case they had to go outside), grabbing his Invisibility Cloak. Following Ron to the Common Room, he saw that Lavender was waiting with her equally anxious friend, Parvati Patil, another concerned roommate of Hermione's.

"Let's see here," said Harry, unfolding the parchment, and tapping it with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good…"

A detailed map of Hogwarts revealed itself as always, and the four perused it. "All the people within the castle and the grounds are marked by labelled dots," Harry explained for Lavender's and Parvati's benefit. "We have to find a dot with Hermione's name by it."

Lavender and Parvati nodded they had understood.

"Nothing in the Library," Ron noticed. "Hang on, thee's something moving by the Astronomy Tower… oh, no, it's just Mrs Norris."

"Look here!" Lavender gasped urgently, rapping another moving dot. "Over here… by the troll tapestry."

"Let's have a look," Harry noticed the spot. "Oh… that's Trelawny, probably hiding some grog in the Room of Requirement…"

"Again," Ron snorted. "What a pisshead! I don't know why Dumbledore doesn't just…"

"Ron!" reprimanded Lavender, offended by his disparaging comments on her favourite teacher.

"There's Snape, out on the balcony on the second floor," Parvati observed, pointing. "Probably smoking a wizard bong…"

Had the mission been different, Ron and Harry probably would have erupted into fits of laughter. Their concern for Hermione however, was more important, and the boys were also becoming very worried they hadn't come across her presence yet.

"Hmm. No Hermione," Ron sighed. "Where could she be?" Surely she hasn't gone home for any reason

"Nah," replied Harry. "She would have told us about… hang on!" Harry had noticed a stationary dot, on the third floor corridor. "Here she is, in the forbidden corridor."

Parvati and Lavender gasped. "W-what is she doing there?" Lavender stammered in horror.

"Probably using a short cut," Ron said guiltily, knowing that Hermione only knew about the short cut because of himself and Harry.

"Why isn't she moving?" Parvati wondered aloud. "Has she been Petrified?" she volunteered, remembering the Basilisk incident in their second year. "Is that why she isn't moving?"

"Probably overdid it in the Library," Ron suggested, "and fell asleep on the way back."

Harry shook his head, knowing it wasn't Hermione's style to fall asleep at inappropriate times and places. That was more up to him, he thought, remembering his disastrous History of Magic OWL. "Whatever happened to her," he said, draping himself in his Invisibility Cloak "I'm going to find her. Come on, Ron!"

"We're coming as well!" Parvati said, highly affronted by Harry's desire to play the hero, as usual. "We're worried about Hermione, too!"

Ron sighed. "All right," he said, begrudgingly holding up a corner of the Cloak. "Come on, then!"

Just about concealed under Harry's Cloak, the four reached the third floor corridor with some trepidation.

"This is scary," Lavender whined. "I… I can smell blood."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ron snapped Lavender. "It's only scary when you come across Filch… I hope he hasn't got to Hermione first."

"What if," Parvati suggested, "You-Know-Who has her?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on!" he said. "If Voldemort was here, you'd know about it… I'd be…"

Before he could explain the horrific symptoms Voldemort's presence gave him, the light on his wand caught a torn bag surrounded by ripped up pieces of ink-stained parchment. "My God…" he croaked, suddenly almost as scared as Parvati and Lavender claimed to be. "That looks like…"

A squeaking moan came from nearby. Lavender screamed and clung to Ron, whilst Parvati cowered behind her.

Harry moved his wand light over to the left of the corridor, and saw something else. Hermione lay there, eyes closed but still alive, completely naked, bleeding from the face, her torso shiny and bruised, a badly swollen leg and unspeakable purple welts on her thighs. Harry rushed forward and shielded Hermione's nakedness with his jacket, kneeling beside her.

"Hermione!" squealed Lavender. "What happened to you?"

Hermione's eyes flitted open. "Labender," she snuffled, her voice muffled by her smashed nose and dislocated jaw. "Wok are you gooin' eyar?"

Parvati wept upon looking at the wretched girl. "What happened?"

"Dayco Mawboy," Hermione struggles to get the name out. "Cabb. Doyle… I bon't…" Tears fell from her puffy eyes. "wanna kawk 'bout id…"

"What?" asked Harry, hardly able to decipher Hermione's words, inhibited by her injuries. He pointed his wand at her nose. She flinched a little, the memory of what Malfoy had done to her with _his _wand at the forefront of her mind.

"_Episkey,_" Harry incanted, fixing Hermione's nose, allowing her to breathe more easily. Ron, who had relinquished Lavender's grip, appeared behind Harry, and cleared her face of blood, ink and tears with a "_Scourgify_" spell.

"Fank you, guysh," Hermione croaked, feeling a little stronger, which allowed her to reach up and pull some of the shards of crystal glass from her cheek with her left hand. She still found it hard to speak through a broken jaw.

"Why are you naked?" Parvati asked, although she was reluctant to hear the answer. "It was…" Hermione said, through hot, salty tears. It hurt to talk, move… it even hurt to cry. "Dwaco Mawfoy and his fwendsh… g-g-g…" She dissolved into more painful tears that stung her scratched cheek. _No, _she thought. _I just can't tell them… I can't deal with the shame…_

"Oh… Hermione…" Lavender said, coming closer. Not really understanding, but trying her best to make things better, she reached out to hug her injured friend, but Hermione pushed her away with her relatively unhurt left arm, as forcefully as she could. Ron managed to stop Lavender falling upon the hard stone floor.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed through her sobs. "Bwoken wibsh… 'urtsh sho bad…"

Harry thought quickly. "Parvati," he asked, "go and fetch Hermione some fresh clothes. Underwear, everything." He paused. "Ron, Lavender, you go with her. The attacker may still be around. I'll stay with Hermione." He cupped Hermione's chin gently in her hand.

More memories of what Malfoy had done came back to Hermione, and she tried to turn her head to escape Harry's touch.

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry said gently, mistaking her reaction as physical pain. "Let's try and fix your jaw. This might hurt a little." He carefully repositioned the dislocated jaw.

Hermione didn't care about the pain. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had inflicted enough of it on her to last several lifetimes; another moment's agony would be nothing.

Harry repeated his _Episkey_ spell on Hermione's jaw – Hermione wincing all the while. It fixed perfectly, though her jaw was still aching.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione croaked.

"What happened?" Harry had to ask. Now that Hermione could articulate her words properly, she would be more likely to speak up.

Cowering under Harry's jacket, Hermione told Harry how she had been trying to get back from the library, when Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had set upon her, raping her in humiliating and painful ways, and torturing her for their spiteful amusement. She explained how her body had been brutally beaten by those bastards. "Please," she finished through her tears, "don't tell anyone else…"

Harry was almost crying himself after hearing about Hermione's sickening ordeal. "I'll deal with them," he whispered back to her. "I don't care about Voldemort; if I have to kill anybody it'll be Malfoy…" He stopped, noticing that Parvati, Lavender and Ron returning with some freshly laundered garments for Hermione.

"We'll sort her out," Lavender said kindly to Harry, handing him back his jacket, now a little sweaty and bloodstained.

"We'll take her to the hospital wing," Parvati continued. "Try not to worry about her, boys, and go back to bed."

"Er… thanks," Ron said, even though he knew he would not get back to sleep, he couldn't even use the time to catch up on his work; he would be too worried about his friend to concentrate properly on essays.

It was even worse for Harry. Of all his existing problems, the fact that Snape was now teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, the new Potions teacher, Slughorn was practically stalking him, the prophecy he had heard at the end of the last school year, and of course the prospect of having to go back to the Dursley household in June, knowing what Hermione had endured was the worst.

When the pair reached the Gryffindor common room, clambering through the portrait hole, Ron wandered over to his favourite chair by the fire. "I can't sleep, Harry," he sighed. "I'm just gonna hang around here and see where the mood takes me. You?"

Harry yawned. "I think I'll go back to bed," he sighed. See you later, Ron!"

"Sure," Ron acknowledged, as Harry headed back up the stairs.

Harry slumped upon his four-poster, not bothering to take his sneakers off, and closed the curtains around him. He just lay there in the darkness, trying not to think of morning, when he knew that Malfoy would be down there, leering at Hermione, and boasting about how she'd finally put out for him, having harboured a non-existent crush for nearly six years, how humiliated poor Hermione would be as the Slytherin table would give her knowing looks she would despise. And having to be with him in lessons, that would be so agonising for her

Most of all, Harry would worry about what he would do to Malfoy the next time they met. He wouldn't need an Unforgivable Killing curse, he would wrap his hands tightly around Malfoy's neck, squeeze as hard as he could, and have the pleasure of watching him die.

He shook his head. He would get even with Malfoy by any means possible, even if it meant his expulsion from Hogwarts. He would even risk going to Azkaban to avenge Hermione.

Finally, Harry drifted off as the light of dawn began to creep in through his curtains.


	3. Word Gets Around

_A/N: ZOMG, update! Thank you for the Chapter One reviews, Sharin Fereba (apologies, the malicious style probably comes from reading too many horrors as a young teenager :-/) and ring mah b3ll, and for the second chapter reviews from Stalkqueen and Silidons. All comments are greatly appreciated. Apologies for lateness of this chapter, I have been facing some personal problems. :(_

_As usual, all related names, places, etc. are owned primarily by J.K Rowling, and owned and copyrighted by Warner Bros._

Word Gets Around

"Harry," Ron's voice came as Harry woke from a dreamless doze. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," Harry croaked from behind the curtain, reluctant to move from where he lay.

"You decent?" Ron asked when Harry did not emerge from his bed.

"Yeah…"

Ron pulled back Harry's curtains, as Harry dutifully sat up. "What's wrong?" he asked, the worry about Hermione flooding back to him.

"It's Hermione," Ron said, sadly. "Madam Pomfrey told Lavender that Hermione was so badly hurt, she had her transferred to St Mungo's straight away."

Harry gasped. All the possible injuries she could have incurred through being viciously raped by three people (Harry was loathe to think of Malfoy and his followers as 'people') flitted through his mind. Had she told Madam Pomfrey exactly what had happened? How long would she be away for? Would she ever come back?

"I know," Ron answered Harry's silence, taking it as shock. "She must have been beat up pretty bad. Whoever did this should be expelled from Hogwarts."

Harry nodded his agreement. "I know," he croaked. _Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle,_ he thought, _they should all be banished from Hogwarts forever_. "We should go visit her," he went on, dully.

"Not worth it," Ron answered, a little more cheerfully. "According to Madam Pomfrey, Hermione will be treated today, they'll keep her in for observation tonight, and she should be back tomorrow afternoon. Hey," he glanced at his timetable. "She'll miss double DADA. That'll please her!"

_More than you'll ever know, _Harry thought wryly. So, if Hermione was planning on coming back after what had happened, pretending nothing was wrong, what in Merlin's name was she going to do about classes they shared with Slytherin? He felt for her so much; the brotherly love that had always been there had grown into a desperate need to protect her.

"Coming for breakfast?" Ron asked.

"I'm not hungry," Harry replied sadly, as his stomach rumbled.

Ron raised his red eyebrows. "Oh, really?" he asked.

Harry sighed. "Oh, all right," he said, jumping out of bed, not bothering to change into a fresh set of clothes.

"Harry!" Ginny Weasley chided him as he sat down between her and Ron. "You look like you slept in those clothes!" She tutted. "Get Hermione to teach you how to do an effective Ironing Charm." She paused, as an uncomfortable silence fell at their section of the table upon the mention of Hermione's name.

"Hermione Granger?" Colin Creevy piped up. "She's been sent to St Mungo's, hasn't she?"

"Erm… yeah," Harry confirmed, not sure if he should say anything.

"So it's true, then?" Colin prodded further.

"What's true?" asked Harry, a little aggravated at Colin's overly inquisitive nature.

"She overdosed on some Muggle drug she's been using… heroin, was it?" Colin asked innocently.

Harry dropped his porridge spoon onto the floor, aghast at what he'd just heard. "I beg your pardon?" he hissed in a low, angry voice.

Colin's eyes grew wide as he noticed Harry's anger. "That's just what I heard," he said.

"Who would say such a thing?" Ginny put in, incredulously.

"Probably a stinking Slytherin," Ron said, narrowing his eyes at the Slytherin table. Harry glanced over as well, and saw that neither Malfoy, nor Crabbe or Goyle, were at the table. _At least they have the brains to keep away from me, _Harry thought, _and the decency to stay out of Hermione's way._

"That's what I heard from Justin Finch-Fletchly," Colin said. "Why, what really happened?"

"That's none of your…" Harry began, but was rudely interrupted by a handsome screech owl that he didn't recognise, which plopped a yellow envelope into his lap. He looked at the envelope and saw his name, printed in red ink, in Hermione's handwriting. Written underneath was, _Please don't open this at the breakfast table._

"What's that?" asked Colin, eyeing Harry's envelope. "Who's it from?"

"…Business!" Harry finished, raising his voice a little. "Listen, Creevy, keep your snotty little nose out of matters that don't concern you, and for your information, Hermione was attacked, and that is why she's in hospital. Got it?" He glanced over at the staff table, and noticed McGonagall give him a disapproving look, but he didn't care. "Listen, Ron," he said, slipping Hermione's note into his back pocket. "I've just remembered, I need to do something in the library before class. See you later, okay."

"But you never…" Ron began, but Harry had already made his way down the table. He shook his head and turned to Ginny. "He never does anything at the library."

"So what _is _wrong with Hermione?" asked Seamus Finnigan. "The whole school knows she's in hospital; what really happened, Ron?"

"I… um, uh…" Ron tried to think of anything to say to avoid the question, but couldn't. "I don't know," he sighed.

"People are saying all sorts of things," Dean Thomas informed Ron. "Saying she overdosed on drugs or booze, got attacked by a Boggart that scared her witless, there are even some people saying that her head exploded when she was in the library." Ginny gave him an extremely vicious look. "If you believe Luna Lovegood, that is."

Ron stood up. "I can't listen to this any more," he snapped, throwing down in his cutlery, which knocked over Neville's pumpkin juice. "Didn't any of you hear what Harry just said? She's been attacked and badly hurt, that's all you need to know!"

"But by what?" piped up Colin, feeling brave. "If it's anything like the Basilisk again, the school must be told."

"I don't know, all right, you nosy little snot!" Ron snarled, quite forgetting that Colin had been petrified by the Basilisk, just as Hermione was. "Now, just stop speculating and leave us alone!" He stalked away, forgetting to apologise to Neville for upsetting his drink. _Whatever, _he thought, _I'll tell him sorry later._

Harry was nowhere near the library; he had gone back to the dormitory to read Hermione's letter in private. He knew everyone was down at breakfast, so he was safe in the knowledge he wouldn't be disturbed, as he split the envelope open. He unfolded the parchment and read:

Dear Harry,

I'm sending this via the St Mungo's mail system, just to let you know how I'm doing. The Healers are about to see to my various injuries, but have already fixed up my arm so I could write to you. They are very kind.

I am going to face things and return to Hogwarts as soon as they discharge me. I should be arriving tomorrow by Knight Bus.

Please let Ron know I'm okay, but please don't tell him, or anyone else all of what happened. I don't want to be treated with kid gloves just because those vile boys raped me. Only three people in the whole world know what has happened, you, me, and a Healer who is treating me. I had no choice to tell her. You know why.

I am strong, Harry. I can get through this. Please don't question my judgement, you know me BETTER than that.

Remember, if anyone asks, I was beaten up, nothing more.

See you tomorrow.

Love, Hermione.

Harry read, and re-read the letter, shaking his head. Sure, Hermione was strong willed, but what would happen when she met Malfoy and his co-idiots again? How would she cope, knowing they weren't being punished for their evil wrongdoings? And, if it came down to her having to tell someone exactly what had happened, would anybody believe her?

"What's up, Harry?" said Ron's voice from behind him. Harry jumped, startled out of his thoughts.

"Don't scare me like that," he gasped, shoving Hermione's letter underneath his pillow.

"Don't blame me," Ron answered incredulously. "I thought you were in the library." He sighed in frustration. "So, who sent you that?"

"Er… just a note from…" Remembering Sirius was dead, Harry realised he could no longer use his godfather as an excuse. "Remus." He chose the closest living person to Sirius he could think of. "He's off on a mission to recruit werewolves to the Order, he just wants to know how we all are."

"Oh right," Ron seemed to believe that. "Can I have a read later?"

_Oh, no,_ thought Harry, thinking he would have to knock up a fake letter before the end of Defence Against the Dark Arts. "Hurry up," Harry said, grabbing his bag, which had been idling at the side of his bed, packed for the next day, a habit Hermione had convinced him to form. "We'll be late for Snape's class. We don't want _that _to happen!"

"True…" Ron sighed, though Harry could still sense he was distracted, wanting to know what Lupin was up to. He wished he'd thought up something a little less plausible, and a lot more boring.

Waiting outside the classroom, Harry and Ron came across Draco Malfoy, minus Crabbe and Goyle, who had failed their OWLs, and were therefore in a different class. His cruel grey eyes looked straight into Harry's green ones, and he paced over towards Harry and Ron, a wide, nasty smirk on his face.

"Potter," he drawled, "I was _so_ sorry to hear about the hospitalisation of your _dear_ friend Hermione Granger."

Harry stared at him indignantly. How could he, knowing he was partly, if not wholly, the reason why Hermione was in St Mungo's, and then come over with an obviously phoney sympathy speech? Harry's fists tightened, his nails dug into the palms of his hands.

"Of course, a literal neural implosion doesn't take all that long to recover from. I expect she'll be back to tell us _all _the answers some time in the not-too-distant future."

_Shut up, _Harry thought. _Just shut up, Malfoy! I know exactly what you did! I'm gonna put you and your little friends in Azkaban for this stunt!_

"What's the matter, Potter?" Malfoy taunted him. "Are you missing poor, dear little Granger? Afraid you're going to fail this class without her?"

Harry gritted his teeth, whilst Ron defended him. "You know Malfoy," he said with a wry smile "I thought you were better than to listen to some cock-and-bull story invented by Luna Lovegood!" He affected a defiant laugh and folded his arms.

"Yes, Weasley, that will do," came the voice of Severus Snape, from the classroom door. "Enter, class."

"For your information, Malfoy," Ron hissed as they filed into the underground classroom. "She was beaten up. And I wouldn't put it past you if _you _did it!"

Harry winced, and for a split second, thought he saw a look of unadulterated alarm on Malfoy's face. But he appeared to recover himself quickly, and sneered at Ron. "Well, I've got news for you, Weasel-by," he replied. "I don't know anything about how your precious little Mudblood friend got herself into such a fix. Personally I hope she's in hospital for a long time; the further away she is from me, the better."

Harry was shocked. He had never agreed with Malfoy before. Ron's face though, was turning the same colour as his straggly hair.

"Thank you, Malfoy," Snape sighed, in a bored voice.

"Professor," Ron said as he took a seat, trying with all his might not to shout. "Didn't you hear what he said?"

Snape folded his arms. "Funnily enough, Weasly," he told Ron, "I do have ears. And I believe Mr Malfoy was merely expressing his opinion."

"But… but…" Ron stammered, lost for words at Snape's lenience with students from his house.

"I was going to let it go, Weasly," purred Snape, "given the circumstances. But I'm afraid I shall have to take twenty points from Gryffindor for your cheek."

Ron slumped his shoulders down, and exhaled in defeat. "I give up," he sighed to Harry.

Throughout the lesson, which was all about non-verbal spells and their advantages, Harry kept thinking about Hermione's letter, which had persuaded him not to tell a living soul about what had really happened last night. But how long could he keep it from Ron, who would no doubt tell Dumbledore straight away, and go on a crusade to get Malfoy and his cronies expelled from Hogwarts. _Maybe that will be a good thing, _he thought. But then, there was Hermione's point of view. Hermione was the victim here, and even though taking decisive action against Malfoy would be the right thing to do, he knew it wasn't what Hermione wanted yet. She didn't want the sympathetic looks, the careful treatment, and, most probably, the derisive calls of 'slut' from Pansy Parkinson and her little Slytherin sorority, who would have, of course, been convinced that she lay herself down willingly for those three...

"Potter." A curt vioce interrupted his thoughts. "As you've been paying _so _much attention," Snape articulated sarcastically, "maybe you could give the class one of the advantages of non-verbal spells?"

Malfoy's hand shot up. "Sir, sir," he lisped, imitating the absent Hermione. "Pick me, pick me!" Harry noticed Malfoy had _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six _open in front of him, when Snape had expressly requested that all textbooks remain firmly shut.

"Very well," Snape sighed in a tired sort of voice. "Since Potter seems to have been rendered incapable of speech, you may answer, Draco."

Malfoy cast his eyes down onto the open book. "Non-verbal spells give the wizard a split-second advantage over his opponent, as there is no way of telling what the spell is until it is hit," he said, continuing his mockery of Hermione, though Snape barely seemed to notice. "Additionally, this makes it difficult for the opponent to perform a counter-curse in good time." He shot a look at Harry and Ron. Fortunately, Harry paid no mind to Malfoy; he was still deep in thought about poor Hermione.

"Excellent, Malfoy," Snape purred. "Twenty points to Slytherin."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a blur of red. "What the..." he heard Ron's voice hiss through his teeth. "Did you see... did you... the book..." Harry nodded surreptitiously.

"Hmm..." Snape came stalking towards Harry and Ron's bench. "Is Mr Weasly suffering from some sort of condition? Would he like to be excused from class to visit Madam Pomfrey?"

"Sir," Ron forced a degree of politeness from beyond his rage. "Malfoy was reading, _directly from the book!_"

"Was he really?" Snape swooped around to face Malfoy, who had found time to stow his book away, and was sitting up straight, hands nonchalantly folded upon his bare desk. "I don't seem to see a book, Mr Weasly. Perhaps you are suffering from hallucinations on top of your other symptoms?" He paused and fixed his onyx eyes upon the reddening Ron, as if considering whether to send him out of class. "No, I'm sure you can survive another..." He glanced at his left wrist "ninety minutes. However," Snape continued to stare coldly at Ron. "you will not be excused from any homework, even if it does get worse. Books out again, and turn to page forty-two..."

"I can't _believe _that guy!" Ron said angrily, as he and Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room. "He lets _his _house students get away with murder!"

Harry was about to tell him how close to the truth Ron could have been, but he managed to stop himself, instead articulating the password to the Fat Lady. "Pygmy puff," he sighed.

"Correct!" the Fat Lady giggled as she moved aside. "And... try to be cheerful for when Hermione gets back. She won't want to see you like this."

"She's right, you know," Ron sighed.

"Huh?" Harry grunted absently, as he drifted back out of those awful thoughts he had been having about Hermione. How she must have felt, with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, doing such vile, inhuman things to her.

"Hermione wouldn't want to see you so worried," Ron said, as he slumped down in the old armchair in front of the Gryffindor fire. "Right... now let's see Remus' letter."

"You what?" Harry asked, confused as to Ron's request.

"The letter you got this morning, from Lupin," Ron reminded him. "Give us a read."

"Oh..." Remembering his lie, Harry fumbled in his robe and trouser pockets looking for the phantom correspondence. When he knew he couldn't find it in his pocket, he knelt down and opened his bag, filing through the parchments, books and quills, but, of course, came up fruitless.

"Oh, God," he sighed, as convincingly as he could. "I must have left it in Snape's classroom..."

Ron looked disappointed. "Oh," he moaned. "I was looking forward to reading about how Moony's doing. Ah, well..."

Harry couldn't bring himself to tell Ron what had really transpired. It was too awful for one thing and for another, he couldn't bring himself to betray Hermione's trust.


	4. Hermione Returns

_I would have put these up earlier but the server was being a cowbag! Still, here we are, eventually. Continued thanks to all the reviews. :)_

_All related names, places, etc. are owned primarily by J.K Rowling, and owned and copyrighted by Warner Bros._

Hermione Returns

Still sore from her Healing treatment, Hermione slept fitfully, in her iron-wrought bed in the Injuries ward of St. Mungo's. Tossing and turning, the bedclothes damp with her sweat. She would keep waking up, falling asleep, and dreaming the same dream...

As she walked down a dark, chilly corridor, a sudden, cold breeze would somehow extinguish the light from her wand, as if it were a candle. Suddenly, she would feel an invisible weight bear down on her, and feel unable to breathe. Finally, the darkness would engulf her, and she would wake up gasping and sweating in the darkness of the day ward.

Disoriented, Hermione sat up and briefly wondered where she was, for her surroundings did not resemble the comforting familiarity of her four-poster bed in the Gryffindor dormitories. She looked to her left. Instead of Lavender Brown under goose-feather quilts, lightly snoring, she saw a fragile old witch, a tube up her nose helping her breathe. Suddenly scared, she dove under the rough cotton sheets and closed her eyes tight.

Within minutes her dream began again. This time, however, when the terrifying suffocation began, she wouldn't wake up. She couldn't make herself, either, no matter how hard she tried.

The walls of the dream corridor appeared to close in on her and... the figure in front of her, bearing down on her with extraordinary force. A pale shape began to come into focus as Hermione fought to breathe, to survive. As she gradually lost her breath, the face of Draco Malfoy came into focus. Only his steely grey eyes had turned a violent shade of scarlet, and sharp fangs sprouted suddenly from his blood red mouth, emphasised by his pallor. The apparition bit into Hermione's struggling throat, and tore at her flesh...

Mercifully, Hermione's eyes sprang open and she sat bolt upright. A terrible scream had awoken her. It was a few moments before she realised that _she_ was the one who was screaming. A fair number of people had been awoken by Hermione's scream, most of whom were groaning in pain and discomfort, mainly irritated at being roused from their precious sleep so early. "For goodness sake," came the croaky yet sure voice of an elderly witch across the ward, "that's the fourth time tonight. Keep it down, will you?"

Hermione saw a wand light hurrying towards her. The light finally revealed a concerned looking Healer, brandishing a bottle of potion.

"It's okay," she said soothingly. "Relax. It's over now." She twitched her wand, and Hermione felt the pillows behind her back fluff up.

The Healer uncorked the vial of clear potion. "It seems that you've been having trouble sleeping, dearie," she said quietly. "Some of this potion should help right away." She tipped a small amount into a silver spoon she had withdrawn from her pinafore pocket. She held the spoon to Hermione's lips. "Come on, dear," she soothed, gently pouring the bitter contents of the spoon down Hermione's willing throat.

_The Draught of Peace, _Hermione thought vaguely before the light of the Healer's wand faded, and the world clouded into darkness once more.

Within minutes, Hermione fell into a deep, and thankfully for her, dreamless sleep.

Harry waited anxiously at Hogwarts' front gates, yellow and red scarf pulled up near his face, against the cruel biting November wind. He glanced into the distance for any sign of the Knight Bus, which would bring Hermione back to Hogwarts. He couldn't stop thinking about the hell that Malfoy and his damn followers had put Hermione through. It bought tears to his eyes. Or maybe it was the cold stinging his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, so he could see the blue triple-decker bus approach.

Sure enough, a big blue bus came into view, weaving down the muddy path, towards the front gate.

Harry was a little shocked to see Hermione who was walking awkwardly, still wincing in pain. Her clothes, the very same ones Lavender and Parvati had picked up for Hermione before taking her to the hospital wing, were scruffy and unwashed. Her hair was more out of control than usual, and she was still dozy from the sleeping potion she had been given earlier.

Her puffy red eyes looked into Harry's green ones. She ran towards him, and embraced him.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sobbed, burying her face in the wool of his school scarf. "It was... it was horrible..."

Harry returned his friend's hug. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked her softly.

Hermione pulled away gently to look at Harry. She shook her head, her eyes downcast.

"It's okay," Harry whispered, beginning to lead Hermione towards the castle. "You tell me when you're ready."

Hermione said nothing. Never would she tell anyone about the horrible dreams she'd been having, the demonic, vampire Malfoy, sucking the life out of her, feeding off her pain.

Harry watched his friend's face, the twisted expression the only give-away to her deep-seated emotions. _What could she be thinking? _Harry thought. _ If only Hermione would let me exact revenge upon Malfoy, I could solve her problem, and make sure he never hurts anyone again..._

They began to walk, in silence, towards the looming, grey castle. To Hermione, it no longer looked bright and inviting, making her feel eager to learn and improve her already vast knowledge of the world of magic that had been so new to her six years ago. Now, it just reminded her of that horrible incident two nights ago, when her innocence was brutally stolen from her. She was beginning to seriously consider turning back and walking away, perhaps going back to her Muggle life. _Or, better still,_ she thought sadly, _jumping off a cliff_.

"Hermione?" Harry's question broke the eerie silence.

"Yes?" Hermione shrilled suddenly, as if Harry had startled her.

Harry smiled. "I think you're really brave," he said softly. "After what... what happened to you... coming back to face it... I... I don't think I could do it..." He removed his glasses, and swiftly wiped his eyes with his robe sleeve. "Sorry," he explained to Hermione, popping his glasses back on. "This icy wind... making my eyes water." He didn't really want Hermione to know that he was crying because he was so proud of her decision to continue at Hogwarts, even if it meant facing up to her assailants.

Harry's words touched Hermione. They gave her strength and hope. Hope she would not have to tell anyone else about what had happened to her. For one, she was ashamed. She thought of the Muggle phrase; _It takes two to tango, _and thought, perhaps she was partly to blame. Did she somehow, mistakenly give Malfoy the come-on. No... he had approached her from behind. Still, she had let it happen, even if she was badly hurt, unable to run, or escape anyhow. Hermione had never let onto anyone, other than Harry, who was sworn to secrecy, as to what had really occurred. Secondly, she was too embarrassed that everyone would treat her with kid gloves, give her preferential treatment (even Snape would have been commanded not to be so hard on the poor girl; that would be strange enough), and she would eternally be known to all students, present and future as 'that girl who got raped in the Forbidden Corridor'. Lastly, and worst of all, if she did tell, Malfoy may come back and do something even worse. She couldn't help thinking about Frank and Alice Longbottom, tortured to insanity by the Cruciatus Curse. Malfoy was certainly the type to do that to someone he abhorred. Naturally, as a gifted Muggleborn, or 'Mudblood' as he liked to so rudely call her, Hermione was probably on top of Malfoy's _Crucio _list.

Bad thought finally passing her by for now, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and squeezed gently. "Thank you," she whispered.

When they reached the castle doors, the pair found Professor McGonagall waiting for them. "Welcome back, Miss Granger," she said, not unkindly. "Do you wish to return to class now, or would you prefer to rest up in the infirmary for another day or so?"

Hermione's resolute expression hardened. She took a breath. "I wish to return to class now, Professor," she uttered in a monotone.

Professor McGonagall looked astonished. "Very well, Granger," she said, trying to keep the tone of surprise out of her voice. "Your Arithmancy lesson just started five minutes ago. Professor Vector will be pleased to see you."

"Okay," Hermione said. She turned to Harry. "See you at supper," she said, briefly hugging him before she headed off to class.

"Goodbye, Hermione," Harry whispered, as he watched his vulnerable friend trudge up the steps to her lesson.

"So," Ron said as he and Harry made their way to the Great Hall from the Gryffindor common room, where they had wasted a study period trying to do a Potions essay for Slughorn, and pondering over how Hermione was coping. "She really went straight to Arithmancy?" He was shocked, but not surprised, that Hermione had gone straight back into the swing of things after being beaten up so badly.

"Yes," Harry replied. He was quiet for a while then said, "I don't think she should have gone back straight away. It's not right." He shook his head. _Why won't she tell Dumbledore, McGonagall, hell, even Filch what has happened to her? _Harry pondered to himself. Maybe she was afraid of retribution. Especially with a specimen such as Malfoy. Harry was beginning to think the very worst about him... perhaps since his father has been sent in shame to Azkaban, after being discovered as a supporter of Voldemort, the Dark Lord had charged Malfoy to take his father's place, and that Malfoy had been brainwashed to commit acts of treachery and violence, beginning with attacks on Muggle-borns. It was well known that Malfoy disliked Hermione because of her heritage, and perhaps this was Voldemort's way of making an example of half-bloods, and maybe, just maybe, Malfoy and his associates weren't completely at fault... _Wait,_ thought Harry suddenly. _Malfoy not to blame? What am I thinking?..._

"Harry!" hissed Ron, as if he had trying to get Harry's attention for a while. A girl Harry did not recognise was sitting next to him.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Ron asked the girl, who shook her head slowly, and turned her bloodshot eyes downwards.

"Come on, Hermione," Ginny, who was sitting the other side of Ron, chipped in. "You have to eat something." She paused, and a small smirk covered her face. "Not going through the S.P.E.W thing again, are you?" She glanced knowingly at Ron, who rolled his eyes. He could remember, all too well, Hermione's one-woman pressure group to try and get the house elves of Hogwarts better conditions, and well-deserved pay. Part of her non-violent protest was refusing to eat the food prepared by 'slave labour.' She had given up after less than a week; her favourite dessert, treacle tart and hot custard, had been all too tempting.

Harry looked again at the scruffy girl. Her eyes was dull and bloodshot, and her straggly, bushy hair was hanging in her pale face. He was shocked. She looked even worse than she had this morning. "Hermione?" Harry gasped, trying his best not to sound so anxious. "You look terrible. Are you sure you're okay?"

Hermione sighed and pushed her empty plate away. "Will you shut up?" she hissed at Harry. "I had enough of this with bloody Vector. 'Are you okay, Hermione? 'Are you sure?' 'Are you sure?' Every five fucking minutes! If I wasn't _fine_ I wouldn't have _been_ in his shitty class!" There was a terrible scraping sound as Hermione's chair scratched the wooden floor. She stood up, and marched out of the Great Hall, having eaten barely a thing.

Harry, Ron and Ginny sat, speechless and open-mouthed. They had never heard Hermione swear, or berate a class like that before.

"Something's very wrong," Ginny said solemnly. "If only we knew what it was."

Harry frowned, feeling his heart beat angrily. "She was attacked," he informed Ron's sister. "That's all that happened, she got attacked. That is all you need to know. Okay?"

"Harry!" Ginny hissed. "I don't think that's all. And I think you know a damn sight more than you're letting on."

"Look," Harry said, a little more calmly. "If you want to know what happened, why don't you ask Hermione herself? Though I doubt you'll get any sense out of her."

"Fine," said Ginny, standing up and tucking her chair noisily under the table. "Maybe I will." She stalked out of the Great Hall.

Ron eyed Harry curiously. "I think Ginny's right," he said crossly, as he chewed up the last chunk of sausage.

Harry merely shrugged. "So what if I do?" he whispered.

"Look," Ron said irritably, "you want to help Hermione, right?"

Harry nodded, squashing his mashed potatoes so that it covered his plate. He wasn't hungry any more.

"Well?" Ron continued, taking a gulp of pumpkin juice. "Maybe if I knew what was going on, I could help her as well."

Harry's eyes filled up with tears, as his plate of potato disappeared, signalling the end of dinner and the beginning of desert. "I can't," he sniffed. "I just... can't."

"Why the hell not?" Ron said angrily. "You know, she's my friend, too!"

"I promised I wouldn't," he sighed. "Not even you, Ron... I'm sorry... I can't break this promise."

Ron sighed, exasperated. "Fine!" he snarled, ignoring the treacle tart that had appeared on the table. "Don't talk to your best friend, even though he's offering you help!" He stood up and stormed out, leaving Harry on his own. He cut a slice of treacle tart, and, after wrapping it carefully in a napkin, left the table himself.

He wasn't sure how long Hermione's secret would stay so.

Hermione lay upon her bed, staring up at the light pink satin curtains surrounding her four-poster. Now that she was alone, there was nothing to think about but that horrible night, when Malfoy had done such a disgusting and degrading thing to her. She was confused over her feelings; being by herself made her feel like someone was going to spring upon her. Being with others was worse: she felt like she couldn't breathe with the mass of bodies around her and again, the thought that one would attack her was always there, etched onto her memory like graven letters on a tombstone.

Thankfully, she hadn't seen the perpetrators yet. Could it possibly be, thought Hermione, that they have already been caught and expelled? This happy thought consoled her for as long and as suddenly as it has crossed her mind. If it were true, the whole school would have been abuzz about the fact that Malfoy, Goyle and Crabbe, had been removed from the school. Secrets didn't exist in Hogwarts. That is, apart from the reality of hers.

She'd heard the incessant and numerous rumours, whispered behind books and parchments where they thought she couldn't hear. That the Bloody Baron had nearly, literally, frightened the life out of her. That she had thought the wrong thing whilst practising non verbal spells, which had backfired badly. That she had tripped and fallen on a set of stairs, and mischievous Peeves had dragged her to... the corridor. Those were some of the nicer ones she had heard.

Hermione was tired, more tired than she had ever been, but she knew she mustn't fall asleep, lest that awful nightmare consume her once again. _I must not sleep, _she whispered to herself, as her burdensome eyelids drooped. _I... must... not..._


	5. Intervention

_Thank you for all the kind reviews. I've kind of lost track of who has reviewed in recent weeks (months?), I've had other things on my mind..._

_This chapter is dedicated to 'pstibbons' for his kind(ish) suggestion. I hope you stick with it. :)_

_As ever,_ a_ll related names, places, etc. are owned primarily by J.K Rowling, and owned and copyrighted by Warner Bros._

The Intervention

Harry had not felt much like returning to the Gryffindor common room, for fear of running into anyone demanding to know more about Hermione, so he had spent his evening languishing in the library, actually doing some worthwhile studying, none of which went in. He was still worried about Hermione, and how she was coping with being back at Hogwarts, the constant danger of having to meet Malfoy hanging over her. He longed to share his burden with Ron, but he couldn't.

_Please let Ron know I'm okay, but please don't tell him, or anyone else all of what happened... __I am strong, Harry. I can get through this. Please don't question my judgement, you know me BETTER than that._

Remembering Hermione's letter from the hospital, Harry was further compelled to keep her secret. Having everyone know what had happened to her would destroy her in the long run. That's what Hermione thought, and Harry was finding himself believing her all the more.

"Time," came the bored voice of Madam Pince. "Lights out in half an hour; please return to your common rooms."

Harry sighed and shoved his copy of _The Standard Book Of Spells, Grade Six _into his bag, and trudged out of the library.

As he approached the Gryffindor common room, he heard a severe voice call his name. "Potter!" It was Professor McGonagall, and she didn't sound very happy.. Harry sucked in his breath, and hesitantly turned towards the teacher. This was probably because of his less than civil behaviour at supper that evening.

"I have been looking everywhere for you," McGonagall continued crossly. "Where on Earth have you been?"

"Library," Harry sighed.

McGonagall's eyes widened. "Well," she sighed. "That explains why I was unable to find you; I wouldn't expect you to be in the library until closing. Hermione on the other hand..." The usually hard-faced Transfiguration professor showed a rare sign of emotion of tears in her watery eyes, which Harry pretended to ignore. "Potter, I need to see you in Dumbledore's office, right away please."

"Dumbledore's office?" questioned Harry.

"That's right," McGonagall said curtly. "Dumbledore and I need to discuss something with you." She turned and began walking down the corridor, towards Dumledore's quarters. "Follow me."

Harry obliged, not wanting to irritate McGonagall further.

McGonagall led Harry to a gargoyle suspended from a wall. "Fizzy cola bottle," she said to it, and it noisily shifted to reveal a stone spiral staircase, which she began to ascend. Harry dutifully followed.

A stern looking Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, neat apart from the wizarding contraptions whirring away. He glanced over his half-moon eyeglasses and considered Harry carefully. "Take a seat please, Harry," he said gently.

Harry felt somehow nervous. "What's wrong, Professor?" he asked.

McGonagall took a seat on the left side of Dumbledore's desk. "Potter," she began. "Professor Vector reported to me this afternoon. He was incredibly worried about Miss Granger's uncharacteristic lackadaisical behaviour in class this afternoon."

"Oh..." Harry said, as if this was news to him.

"I was also concerned at her out-of-character actions at the dinner table," McGonagall went on, "and I believe that this behaviour has something to do with what happened to her two nights ago."

Dumbledore drummed the fingers of his injured, blackened hand on the table. "Now, Harry," he said calmly, though there was a distinct quaver of concern in his voice. "Since you were first to discover Miss Granger after her... accident..." Harry could tell that Dumbledore was sceptical over what Hermione's situation could be referred to, "and nobody else was willing, or able, to give us any vital information about what had happened to her, we were wondering whether you could... shed some light on the situation."

"Have you asked Hermione?" Harry responded quickly, a little too quickly.

McGonagall sighed ruefully "We tried that, Potter," she told him, sadly. "However, Miss Granger was most unresponsive."

Dumbledore nodded his wise head sadly. "She would not respond to me, either," he added.

Harry frowned. "Why didn't you just use Legilimancy on her?" he asked.

Dumbledore's expression hardened. He flexed the long fingers of his healthy hand, and began to twist a gold and onyx ring Harry had never seen before,which he wore on the middle finger of his injured hand. "Professor," he said, "would you mind leaving the office for a moment? I need to speak to Harry in strict confidence."

McGonagall nodded, rose from her seat, and left Dumbledore's office. The heavy oak door shut automatically behind her with a thud.

"Harry," Dumbledore sighed. "Legilimancy did cross my mind, but, to be honest, Hermione seemed so distressed, that I decided not to employ the method against her. It would bring the obviously painful and harrowing incident, whatever it may have been, to the forefront of her mind once again, and this would have done her more harm than good."

"I see." Harry was disappointed. He thought Dumbledore could use his great and numerous powers with care, and could do something such as reading Hermione's thoughts, without causing her unnecessary harm to her. For the first time, Harry saw Dumbledore as something other than powerful; vulnerable, perhaps.

"However," A tone of irritation crossed Dumbledore's usually gentle calming voice. "I know, or at least strongly suspect, that you know something, Harry, and I implore you to tell what it is that is troubling poor Miss Granger."

Harry shook his head. "I... can't," he quavered. "I made a promise to Hermione never to share the experience with anybody else."

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes considered Harry, in a colder manner than usual. "Not even me?" he sighed.

"Not even you, Professor," Harry told him. "I'm sorry."

"Very well," Dumbledore heaved a sigh. "I know one way I can procure the information from you."

Harry's stomach lurched. _I shouldn't have brought up Legilimancy, _he thought.

"Whatever is troubling Miss Granger is a very serious matter indeed," Dumbledore went on. "I can tell you that Professor Vector was most distressed and upset with Hermione's behaviour in class today, so from the little information I have received, I feel that something is very wrong." He shook his head slowly. "I thought you could help, but I must say, I am very disappointed in you, Harry."

Now Harry felt torn. He genuinely wanted to help Hermione, but he didn't want to betray her nasty secret to anyone. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, close to tears, "but I really cannot tell you. I can't betray Hermione's trust."

"Very well," Dumbledore's usually steady voice was quaking a little with frustration. "You may go to bed now."

Harry stood up.

"But I must warn you, Harry," Dumbledore went on, "I am a very skilled Legilimens, as you well know, and if it comes down to it, I _will_ use such a power on you to get the information I need."

"I understand." Harry bit his lower lip, worried, and sure that if anyone was to discover Hermione's secret, it would destroy her life. More so.

"Although," Dumbledore suggested, "you can avoid this eventuality if you just please tell me what happened."

Again, Harry hesitated.

"You don't have to tell me now," Dumbledore said reassuringly, "but please, see sense, and tell me soon." He paused, and blinked back tears that Harry didn't see. "I fear for Miss Granger's life."

Harry began to consider telling Dumbledore, but her thought about what Hermione would have to go through if the staff knew. Like she said, she would be treated gingerly, and before she knew it, the whole school would be in on it, and she would be, at best, a laughing stock.

"Professor McGonagall will escort you back to the Gryffindor common room," Dumbledore said, as Harry stood to depart from Dumbledore's office. "It is a new measure I am implementing. There will be a strict curfew for all students, and anyone needing to be in the corridor after hours must have full permission, and will have to be escorted by a member of staff. I will let the rest of the school know about these measures at breakfast tomorrow." He sighed. "I do not wish for any other student to be attacked as Miss Granger was." He escorted Harry to his office door.

As soon as he stepped out of Dumbledore's office, he was confronted by McGonagall.

"Potter," she said, sounding almost frightened. "Have you, by any chance, sworn an Unbreakable Vow to not share this secret of Hermione's?"

Harry considered McGonagall's pale, lined face, which showed genuine worry, even a little fear. Remembering what an Unbreakable Vow was (Ron had told Harry all about an incident in which Fred and George had tried to involve him in such a dangerous practice), and realising that the thought must have crossed McGonagall's mind, Harry gasped in shock. "Certainly not, Professor," he reassured her. "I didn't even know what they were until this summer. Ron told me..."

"Listen, Potter," McGonagall hissed, "I want to help Hermione as much as you do. But I can't, unless you tell me what is wrong with her."

"I can't," Harry said sadly.

McGonagall exhaled deeply. "For goodness sake, Potter," she snapped, "change the record!"

Harry ignored this. How could he betray Hermione? Again, the letter came to his mind. _Please don't tell anyone else all of what happened... I am strong... _But... was she?

Neither of them spoke until Harry and McGonagall reached the Fat Lady portrait in front of the Gryffindor common room. Harry was about to utter the password, when the professor spoke once more. "Potter, I urge you, tell someone, _anyone,_ what happened to Miss Granger." She looked at him, almost pleadingly. "Please, at least think about it."

"I will." Harry had no intention of letting Hermione's secret out in the open; he just wanted McGonagall off his back.

He watched the stern professor walk off into the darkness of the corridor, and uttered the password: "Pygmy Puff."

The Fat Lady nodded sleepily and slid to the side, revealing Hermione, hunched up in the chair by the hearth in the Common Room, by the smouldering, dying embers of the fire, wrapped tightly in a scruffy, pale green housecoat, her bushy hair hanging limply in her face, which was hidden in her hands.

"Hermione," whispered Harry. "What are you doing down here?" He approached her quietly.

"I had a nightmare," she whispered. "I don't want to go back to sleep, Harry, so... please... just leave me alone..." She glanced up at him, her red, tear-stricken eyes full of fear.

Harry smiled weakly, kneeling down beside the chair. "Want to talk about it?" he asked, leaning on the arm of the chair.

Hermione's bushy head moved. "No..." she croaked. "I'll... be fine..."

"Listen," Harry whispered. "Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking to me earlier." He had to choose his words carefully. "Basically... they want to know what happened to you... they want to help you..."

Hermione looked up, and her eyes flashed. "What?" she shrilled, reaching up to grab Harry's shoulders, and shook him feebly. "No... please... Harry... you... you can't... you can't tell anyone..." She began to sob loudly.

"Ohh... Hermione..." Harry sighed, embracing her. "Please... please don't cry..."

Hermione pushed him away briskly. "You didn't say anything, did you?" she asked, bloodshot eyes full of horror.

Harry shook his head. "No..." he said. "They really wanted to know, Hermione... So perhaps you should tell them yourself."

Hermione started to weep again. "No..." she sniffed. "Nobody must know... if everyone knew... the shame would kill me."

"Come on, Hermione," Harry encouraged. "They only want to help you. They can straighten everything out. You know how understanding Dumbledore is. He will have Malfoy expelled within..."

Hermione flinched at the name. "Never... say that name around me," she hissed. "That name makes me feel sick... and those other two names..."

"Crabbe and Goyle?" asked Harry stupidly.

"SHUT UP!" screamed Hermione. "You're not helping me any, Harry, so just go to bed and leave me alone!"

Harry quickly stood up and backed away from Hermione as if she were a malfunctioning Muggle radiator. "All right!" he said. "Just... think about it, okay?"

But Hermione said no more.

Harry sighed. "Goodnight," he snorted, thumping up the stairs in frustration.

Once she knew Harry was gone, Hermione reached underneath her tatty dressing gown, and produced a bottle. She _had_ visited Dumbledore's office that day; thankfully it had been deserted, as it had been a lot lately, and had managed to sneak in behind a housekeeper, thanks to Harry's Invisibility Cloak, which she had borrowed (damn, she could have given it back to him then!). She had procured a bottle of Old Ogden's Firewhisky from Dumbledore's modest drinks cabinet.

She took a large swig from the bottle. The liquid burned all the way down her gullet and into her stomach. It warmed her cold heart and numbed her pain, so she took another gulp.


End file.
